Divergence
by Eden Lies
Summary: Quantum physics allows for the possibility of multiple universes. But when time and space begin to blur and all he can keep in his line of sight is Nathan Harris, he knows that there has to be something wrong with him. Spencer Reid/Nathan Harris, multi-chaptered fic.
1. Catalogues and Coffee Shops

Hello everyone! Despite the fact that I'm still in the middle of typing up and posting the rest of a Hotch fic, I just HAD to get this down. My favorite episode of Criminal Minds is definitely "Sex, Birth, Death" (season 2, episode 11), and appropriately, I've always had a certain love for the Reid+Nathan Harris chemistry/dynamic.

That love+some fascinating physics theories+a pinch of the schizophrenia storyline= the birth of this fic.

This will be a chaptered deal, so the story definitely doesn't end here!

Warnings: dark topics (obviously!) including attempted suicide, psychopathy, and self-harm.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Nathan Harris

Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters!

And without further ado, here we go!

* * *

**Divergence**

by Eden Lies

* * *

_**Part I: Catalogues and Coffee Shops**_

* * *

Here in his favorite coffee house, with the wafting aroma of cinnamon invading his nostrils and the warmth of his mocha just a hairsbreadth away from his fingertips, Spencer Reid can almost relax.

Almost.

Part of his mind is still working, still whirring away, cataloging numbers and facts and theories. And try as he might, Spencer can never shut that part of his mind down. Maybe, he thinks, that had been the reason why Dilaudid had seemed so attractive- only _it_ managed to silence his mind, after all- but his cataloguing is being interrupted now by silly thoughts about a time long gone, and he pushes himself back onto the right track. Significant events of the 1970's include the beginning of Richard Nixon's term in office, the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, the beginning of the BTK killings, the Watergate scandal, the rise of the Khmer Rouge, the final piece of confirmed Zodiac correspondence, the breakup of the Beatles, and-

He stops suddenly, and thinks that it really would be much easier for him to list things off in order from earliest occurrence to latest. In that case, his list would end up being as follows: The breakup of the Beatles, the beginning of Richard Nizon's term in office, the Watergate scandal-

"Excuse me, sir, I think your sweater fell onto the ground."

Reid is startled, really, when he sees a young barista holding his floppy gray sweater up for him to take.

"Thank you," he says, as he shoots her a nervous smile. He takes the sweater and lays it down across his lap as he adds, "I'd left it hanging over the back of my chair, but I guess I never noticed it slipping off."

The barista smiles at him and shoots a quick 'it's no big deal' at him before heading behind the counter again.

It unnerves him sometimes that things just happen out of the blue, and that he has no recollection of the moment in which these things started. A small part of his brain is thinking of his mother's illness, and whispering that _word_, that forbidden word. He knows that simply not thinking the word doesn't make the problem any less real, but occasionally, he allows himself some childish habits.

But there can't be anything wrong with him. There isn't. He's had visits with every reputable doctor in both Las Vegas and D.C., and not a single one of them has found anything abnormal or indicative of any sort of mental illness. So he's fine, really. Just fine.

His train of thought is derailed a bit by the arrival of two girls to the coffee house; they speak with one another animatedly as they wipe the snow off of their boots and pass by his table. Reid catches snippets of their conversation as they go by. _That was a really long movie!_ _What time is it?_

Prompted in part by the girls' conversation and in part by his internal senses telling him that it is getting late, he checks the time on his wristwatch. 8:32 PM. Not unreasonably late, but he supposes that he really should be getting home. He grabs his half-filled coffee cup, pulls his sweater back on, and stands up.

Just as he is pushing his chair back in, his cell phone rings. He grudgingly answers the call, expecting JJ's sympathetic yet firm voice telling him that they've been called out for another case.

"Hey JJ, do you need me back at the office?"

The voice that responds to him is hoarse, tremulous, and he's definitely heard this voice before, and _oh my god-_

"Doctor Reid?"

Spencer drops his coffee cup.

* * *

_In the weeks and months after Nathan's suicide attempt, Spencer had dreamt of the boy and of the sad, dingy motel room nearly every night. Soon, every night was not enough, and his subconscious- still frantic, still obsessed-would dream Nathan up during his daylight hours._

_He would turn the corner at the metro stop and expect to run into a curly-headed, pale-skinned boy with sad, doe-like eyes. He would stare at crime scene photos from their latest cases and see Nathan Harris's corpse instead of the butchered bodies of dozens of other men and women. He would open his closet in the morning and find Nathan there, holding his bloodied wrists out for Reid to see, and Reid would find himself tracing the scars on the boy's arms, some of them years old and not at all related to his suicide attempt. _

_And at night, when he'd close his eyes, he would find himself back in that motel room, that hell that smelled of blood and fear and grief._

_It broke his heart every time he woke up that even in his dreams, he could never save Nathan from himself. _

* * *

"Nathan?"

* * *

_End Part I_

* * *

That's it for now! I won't be able to continue this for a while (since I'll be busy with moving in to uni, and all), but I promise I'll complete this as soon as I can. If any of you feel like it, drop me a review to tell me how I'm doing :).


	2. The Plea

Woah, sorry for the absolutely long time that it's taken me to post this here. I guess real life swamped me for awhile, but since I've finally paused for a bit of a breather, here is part two! Same warnings from the last part apply, though there isn't really anything explicit in here yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own CM! Nope, most definitely not. If I did, canon would have stopped moving forward after the end of season 5. : P

Warnings: Future slash, future talk of unpleasant things (suicide, self-harm, psychopathy, etc.), and just a lot of craziness.

* * *

**Divergence**

* * *

**_Part II: The Plea _****  
**

* * *

_"The continuous narrative of existence is a lie. There is no continuous narrative, there are lit-up moments, and the rest is dark."_

_~Jeanette Winterson_

* * *

"_Dr. Reid," _Nathan says again, voice small and tremulous, and God, how long has it been since he's been addressed like that?

Spencer finds himself swallowing. Hard.

"Yeah?" He says, and suddenly, it's like no time at all has passed in between then (_Whatever it says on my psych eval...you promise that you'll tell me the truth?_) and now ("Oh, I'm sorry sir, could I clean up the spill? Sir? Your coffee…").

He doesn't bother with formalities like 'how are you' in part because he's afraid of the answer he's going to get, but also because he doesn't think Nathan would want him to bother such things either.

_Sir, are you okay? You're starting to get the other customers worried…_

Reid gives himself a firm mental shake and moves out of the way of the barista, who has brought an old washcloth out from behind the counter to try to clean up the mess on the floor.

"_I...I need help."_

Reid's blood runs cold. The café drops away from his consciousness as if it's made of paint and paper instead of brick and mortar. The café doesn't matter at all to him, not when _Nathan _is on the line. His mind is already spinning with possibilities- _what if he's killed someone has he hurt himself is he still being cared for at the hospital_–

"Where are you, Nathan?"

There's no hesitation in his voice at all, and upon closer inspection, Reid really does find it funny. Even with his heart in his stomach and his mind spinning tirelessly away, he will do anything he can for Nathan. It's just something about that voice, about that _ashamed _look in those eyes that radiates self-loathing, that makes Reid weak to him.

He has always had two weaknesses, really: Dilaudid and Nathan Harris. One helped him to shut his brain off as if he were a machine, and the other reminded him of his own humanity in more ways than just one.

"_I'm by t-the public library over here in West End."_

West End. If memory served him correctly (and it almost always did, really), the George Washington University was located right by the end of the district. But as for the public library, it was probably-

"Over by 24th Street?" Reid says, and he hears Nathan exhale into the phone in what he assumes is a nod of assent.

"_Yeah," _Nathan says a few seconds later, and then goes completely silent.

"Stay right where you are," Reid says, "I'm coming to get you."

"_You promise?" _Nathan whispers, and Reid is momentarily caught off-guard by the resurfacing of a sudden memory.

_(My mom says a promise doesn't count unless you say it out loud.)_

"I promise," Reid says, as some indescribable emotion floods through his system, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Reid's heartbeats are so loud that he doesn't hear Nathan's response.

* * *

In all, it takes him forty minutes and twenty-three seconds to pull up by the curbside of the library. Forty minutes is much too long. What if Nathan had left in the meanwhile? Or even worse, what if he'd bled out on the pavement, lost and alone?

He shuts off the engine of his car, unheeding of the bold 'NO PARKING' sign posted a few feet down the street (he's a federal agent, he tells himself, he really should know better than to break the rules), untangles himself from his seatbelt, and makes a mad dash to the library's main doors. What if-

He stops short when he sees a spindly form by the doorway, head down, swaddled in a black turtleneck and a large coat.

It's almost a shock, really, to see Nathan standing on his own. The line of Nathan's neck and shoulders is as elegant as always, and Reid's heart stutters just a little bit, but he chalks it up to the relief of seeing Nathan alive and breathing. After all, he'd seen him last as he straddled the teenager's hips on a motel bed, pressing his hands to those pale and bloodied wrists.

He takes another step forward and Nathan, sensing his presence, looks up at him.

Like the café just a mere hour before, the street, the sidewalk, and the library itself almost completely fall away from his line of sight.

"I knew you'd come," Nathan says, and _God_, it almost hurts to look into those eyes after years of wondering and wishing and dreaming about them.

_(I knew that if you were really good, you'd find me…what do you mean, get caught?)_

"I promised, didn't I?"

The ghost of a smile appears on Nathan's face, but Nathan doesn't respond to him otherwise. It strikes Reid, then, that Nathan looks as if he hasn't aged a single day since he last saw him. Nathan is still entirely Nathan, from the unruly curls to the tips of his shoes, from the elegant lines of his build to the trembling countenance.

Reid finds himself wanting to reach out and touch him just to prove that he's really there, but he almost immediately squashes that urge.

"Dr. Reid," Nathan begins, eyes wandering away (he's nervous, Reid can tell, but who wouldn't be?), "I was wondering, that is, if it isn't too much trouble, if I could stay at your place for the night?"

Reid's heart begins pounding again. The implications in that statement are varied, and some have him instantaneously worried. There are some things here, though unpleasant, that he needs to discuss. He _needs _to.

"What about the hospital?"

"I left as soon as I turned 18," Nathan says, and he begins to shuffle his feet.

Reid's big-picture question had really been _'has your stay at the ward helped you sort things out at all?'_, but he just can't bring himself to say it. After all, some part of him already knows the answer.

Nathan's condition isn't one that can easily be fixed. Even the best doctors in the world can't cure psychopathy.

"What about staying at home?"

The teenager is silent for a few moments.

"My mom is out working tonight," he says finally, "but I just, I can't- "

He steps forward into Reid's personal space, suddenly, and grips the edge of Reid's sleeve. The agent's brain abruptly runs into overdrive. He could turn his wrist and grasp Nathan's hand right here and now-

Their gazes lock.

"Please don't leave me alone," Nathan begs, and those haunted-looking eyes and that trembling lower lip make it impossible for Reid to say no.

* * *

_End Part II._

* * *

That's it, for now! Please stay tuned for the next segment. :) Also, feel free to shoot me any questions/comments/critique!


	3. Demons

Hey guys, sorry for the epically late update! I just finished up my finals and finally made my way back home, so now I'll probably be able to update more regularly.

The same warnings from previous chapters apply to this one as well; as always, concrit would be much appreciated!

* * *

**Divergence**

* * *

**Part III: Demons**

* * *

_"Men who fear demons see demons everywhere." _

_~Gerald Brom_

* * *

Some short minutes later, Nathan is seated in the front passenger side of the car, buckled in and ready to go. Reid cranks up the heater (Nathan is shivering, after all), but makes no move to start the engine. Nathan, feeling suffocated but unwilling to break the silence, fidgets with his sleeves. The young agent hates himself, but he _has _to ask. It's his duty as both an agent and an adult to address the issues at hand. He can't just sit by and pretend that everything's okay and that Nathan is just your usual pal bumming a night on the couch. Reid clears his throat once. Twice.

"Nathan, I hate having to ask you this, but how are you doing?"

Nathan's expression immediately becomes shuttered. He knows exactly what it is that Reid means.

"I'm alright," he says and smiles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. Reid wants to open his mouth and say that he didn't look fine just three minutes ago, when he was begging for Reid to save him from his solitude, but he doesn't. Instead, he lets Nathan continue his line of thought.

"As good as can be. The hospital- well, it wasn't so bad, like you said. They really helped me work out some stuff, and didn't keep me locked up forever. I didn't like the medication, though."

Sirens go off in Reid's head.

"Ah, but that doesn't mean that you didn't take them, right, Nathan? Medication, if it was deemed necessary by the staff, is an important part of the healing process…but you still took them like you were supposed to, I hope?"

The smile on Nathan's face becomes chilling, and for a moment the demons lurking beneath the shadow of his gaze become more pronounced.

"Did I ever say that I did?"

Reid finds himself swallowing as if his throat isn't working properly for the second time that night. The first time had been when he'd felt a riptide of heat overwhelm his system at the cloying and nostalgic title of _Dr. Reid_, but this time-

"No, I guess not. But that's beside the point. What's important, Nathan, is that you feel better. Are there any immediate problems you're facing? Not five minutes ago, you looked as if you were worried about doing something drastic. Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No, not really. I don't even know why I called...I'm fine," Nathan says, the chilling smile gone from his face. He shifts a little bit in his seat and pulls his sleeves down once more.

His sleeves. How could Reid not have noticed before? How could he have not made the connection? Nathan was unstable, yes, but he was never one to be dependent upon others, be they his mother or even Reid himself. He wouldn't have begged Reid for help unless-

"Are you hurt?" Reid asks bluntly, reaching to take hold of Nathan's wrist, but the young man shrinks away from him.

"Nathan-"

"No, please, stop it-"

Reid reaches for Nathan's wrists again, and a somewhat ridiculous scuffle, constrained by both closed doors and seatbelts, ensues. Despite Nathan's shuffling and struggling, Reid manages to catch hold of one of the boy's wrists. He tightens his grip on the teen's wrist in order to keep him from moving away.

Nathan gasps and his eyes immediately color with pain, and Reid feels his heart drop down into his stomach. He lets go of Nathan and the boy quickly pulls his arms protectively up to his chest, shrinking onto himself completely.

"Please don't touch me," Nathan whispers hoarsely, "Please, just…can we talk about this later? C-can't we just drive first?"

_Oh no, oh God. _

_(Stay where you are, I'm calling an ambulance…)_

Reid, caught between the gasp and the revelation of the issue, feels his heart begin to pound harshly from somewhere deep within his aching torso. Bits and pieces of his dreams surface in his consciousness now, all of them involving a bloody, scarred, and devastated Nathan repeatedly drawing a razor blade across his own wrists. Part of him just wants to pounce on Nathan again and forcibly pull up his sleeves to assess the damage, see if it was really like what he saw in his dreams, run his hands across the lattices of scars and cry- but coolheaded rationality wins out, for in the other way lies madness.

"Okay," Reid says finally, "Okay. Just tell me this: is it urgent enough that we need to drive to the hospital or the doctor's office?"

Nathan, shocked mute, jerkily shakes his head. Reid lets out a breath he didn't realize that he'd been holding.

"We'll go home then," Reid finally says, "but we'll have to address it there, alright?"

Nathan nods, and despite the fact that he's still holding himself rigidly in his seat, his eyes (_those large, doe-like eyes_) betray relief.

Reid starts up the engine and pulls out of his illegal parking spot. Neither of the two attempt further casual conversation, but this time, the silence reigning in the car is not nearly as suffocating. As he is driving, Reid watches from the corner of his eye as Nathan slowly but surely relaxes in his seat. He can tell that he's scored points with the young man for not pressing anything else just yet.

Despite the impending storm of trouble lying directly ahead of him, Reid relaxes just a bit in his seat as well.

And although Reid has no idea where to go with this once they actually arrive at his apartment, the car continues to steadily race on through the suburbs, headlights splitting the thick blackness of the night like a knife.

* * *

Reid's nerves begin to make themselves known again as he pulls his car into his driveway and kills the ignition. The agent unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches around to the back to grab his satchel before addressing Nathan, who has yet to make a move to unlatch his seatbelt and exit the car. He's very clearly awake, but since his eyes are unfocused, he seems to be occupied somewhere in the realm of his own thoughts. Reid wonders for a split second what it is that Nathan is thinking about, but then he quickly decides that he doesn't want to know.

"Nathan," Reid says gently, "we're here. I know you're dreading this as much as I am, but let's get inside, at least. You're shivering."

Nathan blinks a few times, owlishly, and turns to stare at Reid.

"Oh, sorry," he says, "I hadn't noticed."

His voice has always been perpetually hoarse, but for some reason now that hoarseness gives Reid a guilty little thrill. He imagines what Nathan would sound like if-

Oh, _god_. Oh goodness.

Reid, shocked by his own thoughts, doesn't wait for Nathan by the car and instead turns on his heel, making his way to the front of his modest little home. Nathan, after unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the car, trails Reid hesitantly to the door.

The young agent pulls out his keys and after a bit of fumbling, manages to turn the lock. He holds the door open and ushers Nathan inside first, his eyes following the curve of the teenager's graceful back. Reid follows and closes the door behind them, shame nearly choking him.

He's trying to save Nathan from his demons, but Reid is steadily recognizing some demons of his very own.

* * *

_End Part III_

* * *

Alright guys, that's it for now! Please don't forget to drop me a review. :) Any sort of input would be much appreciated. Also, as a sort of hint for upcoming chapters: the rest of the team will begin to make appearances soon, and you'll start seeing more of the bigger picture coming into place.


	4. Clinical and Efficient

Hey everyone! Back with a fourth chapter of this beast. This'll probably be the last update for awhile (around 3-4 weeks, maybe?) since I'm going to start summer classes soon and be moving back up to uni. As you can see, the rest of the team starts to come into play here. :D Now is that exciting, or what? Same warnings from previous chapters apply, and I have to strongly caution you in that this chapter contains a pretty graphic description of self-harm.

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds! If I did, I'd be one happy person.

Warnings: Bucketloads of angst and drama, UST, self-harm, suicide, psychopathy, etc.

And here we go, once again!

* * *

**Divergence**

* * *

**Part IV: Clinical and Efficient**

* * *

_"There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it."_

_~George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

It's late in the evening, long past the average salary man's working hours, but the BAU is still alight with activity.

J.J. bustles into the round table room, brows knit together in worry. Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, all present and already seated, look up to greet her when they catch sight of her expression. Hotch frowns to herself as Morgan and Prentiss exchange glances; they know that J.J.'s worry doesn't bode well for whatever is about to come.

"Bad one?" Morgan asks, heaving a deep sigh as he rubs his hand across his forehead.

J.J. takes one last look at the file in her hands before dropping it down onto the table for the others to examine.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so."

Prentiss scans the folder quickly and passes it on over to Morgan just as Rossi arrives, go-bags in hand.

J.J. clicks the screen on and displays photographs of three crime scenes.

"Three crime scenes, four bodies total. Three female victims, all in their twenties, and a younger male. These sites were found scattered across some of the populated corners of the Ozarks, along the boundaries of Fayetteville, Harrison, and Branson."

She pulls up a map of the sprawling mountain range and indicates the approximate location of the three communities.

"The locals never made the connection between the Branson murder and the year-old case in Fayetteville until the discovery of the bodies by the outskirts of Harrison; this is likely because Fayetteville and Branson are on opposite sides of the Illinois-Arkansas state line, and therefore, maintain somewhat poor communication."

"They may not have suspected anything because the victim found in Branson was the only male," Hotch added, "and it's somewhat unusual to have a killer who strays very far from one particular type."

Prentiss nods and says, "That's definitely a possibility."

J.J. gives the others a moment to digest the information before filling the screen with close-ups of the bodies.

"The situation is growing worse really quickly," J.J.'s voice becomes quieter, "because the bodies found two days ago by Harrison were disemboweled and sexually assaulted post-mortem. Considering the fact that the previous bodies had been defiled but not disemboweled and the fact that the time between the kills found in the last two sites amounts to only two weeks, I'd say our unsub is picking up speed."

Morgan turns away from the screen, visibly perturbed.

"What else have we got to work with? Any theories? I mean, right off the bat it probably _has_ to be a local, given how difficult that terrain would be to navigate for anyone else."

Just as Rossi opens his mouth to hop into the discussion, Hotch checks his wristwatch and holds up his hand.

"This'll have to wait until we've taken off. It's wheels-up in forty-five minutes, everyone."

J.J. turns off the viewing screen and gathers together the document files spread out on the table while Prentiss and Morgan get up to grab their things. Morgan pauses just before he passes through the doorway and looks around, somewhat confused.

"Hey wait, guys, where's Reid? Did he say anything about taking the day off? I know he's usually a little late, but we're about to leave here."

J.J. shakes her head. "Maybe there was an emergency with his mom? I tried calling him earlier in the evening, but he didn't pick up his cell. I could try swinging by his place on my way to the jet, if you guys-"

"No," Hotch interrupted, "I'll go. The rest of you focus on the case."

* * *

Reid, in part to give himself a chance to compose himself again, instructs Nathan to sit on the small, well-loved couch in the living room, and sets off in search of some first aid supplies. He brings back with him a medley of different items: bandages of all shapes and sizes, disinfectant, surgical tape, some cotton swabs, and an unused towel. He knows that he needs to be prepared for anything.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he sets foot into the living room again and instantly, Nathan's eyes are on him. For someone probably growing weaker by the minute due to injury, Nathan's gaze is strangely alert.

It strikes Reid for a second that this is the most _present_ he's ever seen Nathan. From the moment he first met him (_back at that DC metro stop, crowded and cramped and oh-so-desperate_), something about the teenager's gaze had always seemed far-off and disconnected to Reid. Whether it was a result of constantly living within the plane of his bloody fantasies, or a betrayal of the deeply-seated _shame _and self-hatred Nathan had of himself, he would never know. But now, well. _Now _is a different story.

Nathan looks away suddenly, almost as if he were embarrassed about something. Reid blinks and holds up the supplies.

"Let me take a look," he says, "please? I just want to help."

Nathan looks down at his arms.

"O-okay."

Reid sits down on the on the other side of the couch and turns to Nathan, waiting. Nathan, clearly hesitant, sheds his coat and slowly- _slowly_- rolls up his sleeves.

Reid's stomach lurches and his mind goes into overdrive. Nathan's arms look _awful_. Scattered everywhere, from his pale inner wrist to the crevice of his elbow are various scars, some shallow and some deep. Beneath the mess of shorter cuts are the thick scars left behind by Nathan's suicide attempt: one deep, vertical gouge on each arm from wrist to elbow, now just angry pinkish tissue. _Clinical and efficient, _just as Gideon had once said.

Although the wounds on Nathan's arms are all in various stages of healing, the ones covering Nathan's wrists are the freshest. They are deep enough that Reid worries that they'll need stitches, and are covered in sluggishly oozing droplets of dark red blood. _That's your fault_, Reid's mind whispers to him, _the wound reopened because you grabbed his wrists against his will_.

Reid swallows and pours some disinfectant out onto the towel.

"This'll probably sting, maybe even hurt, but just bear with it for a little..."

An odd, sarcastic little smile worms its way onto Nathan's face, as if he finds it funny that Reid worries he'll somehow dislike the pain, but the young agent doesn't comment further.

Reid gently grasps Nathan's hand and holds the teen's arm out as steadily as he can in the face of his own shaking. Nathan's skin is icy from the chill of a D.C. winter, but that does little to quell Reid's fire-hot nerves. The instant that Reid presses the towel onto the fresh cuts, Nathan inhales sharply, and Reid instantly stops his ministrations.

_Shit_.

Reid would be lying to himself if he said that that sound was anything but enthralling.

"Doctor Reid, i-it's okay, keep on going."

Reid, still nervous, picks the cloth back up and cautiously continues to disinfect Nathan's arm. Nathan, biting his lip, mostly keeps quiet, and for his Reid is grateful.

Reid finally finishes with the disinfectant, and as he brings the teen's arm closer to his lips to blow away the excess alcohol, he freezes, realizing his mistake a second too late.

_Oh, God._ His lips are mere inches away from that pale skin, _those blindingly desperate cuts-_

* * *

Garcia isn't normally the coffee-type of person, even after a long day of tirelessly monitoring her system at headquarters. She's always been much more inclined to having a cup of warm, freshly strained herbal tea, or maybe even a glass of milk, but never really coffee. She smiles to herself a bit when she thinks that she can leave the coffee (sugar with a side of coffee, really) habit to Reid- who, speaking of which, had not shown his face in her little office for the entire day. She frowns a little.

As she heads out of the office and climbs into Esther, she contemplates going straight home, crawling into bed, and watching a few episodes of _Doctor Who_, or maybe even just having a good giggle while surfing the web for bad fanfiction. She starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, still deep in thought.

The wind chops through her hair and makes her face almost burn with cold, but part of her knows that she'd never have her drive any other way. She'd traded her old car out for the open-topped, metallic-orange Esther, and the car had grown on her much in the same way that colors had after a once-black wardrobe.

As she gets off the highway and makes her way up one of the well-lit downtown streets, the thought of coffee pops back into her mind. She wonders if the local coffee shop has begun serving their traditional pumpkin spice latte. _That would really hit the spot_, she thinks, as the wind continues to blow through her messy curls. She hesitates just a little, but being in one of her moods, decides to damn it all. Taking a quick left turn, she pulls into a parking spot in front of her favorite coffee shop just a few minutes later.

Garcia glances at the clock on her dashboard before killing the car's engine.

A quarter to nine.

* * *

_End Part IV_

* * *

That's it, everyone! Please drop me a review to tell me what you think. :) Concrit is most welcome!


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